Return
by Slivering
Summary: It's been one year. When Ryoma steps in through the bus doors, Tezuka is glad to see that he hasn't changed at all.


**RETURN**

It's only been one year. When Ryoma steps in through the bus doors, Tezuka is glad to see that he hasn't changed at all.

The hat stays pulled low over his unruly hair. The tennis bag on his shoulder is slung in the same languid manner, with his worn out tennis attire adorned on his petite body. Dark circles line his eyes, and a disgruntled frown is plastered on his face. After travelling by plane so often, Ryoma should be used to the jet lag. His tired stance proves otherwise.

He notices Tezuka right away.

"Buchou." Ryoma's bright gold eyes widen a fraction. For a moment, he just stares unblinkingly, unable to comprehend that Tezuka is in front of him. Then in another instant, he slithers past the bus goers, sidling himself up to the captain.

With Ryoma right next to him, Tezuka is relieved to find that the boy has only grown two inches. He still hasn't hit his growth spurt. Tezuka can't imagine him anything but short.

"Echizen." Tezuka glances downwards, adjusting his glasses. Ryoma takes off his hat tiredly, and Tezuka's fingers itch with the inexplicable urge to ruffle his hair. It's a mess. Instead, he clears his throat, and speaks over the rumbling of the bus.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

"Me neither," Ryoma replies easily. His tone is cool and relaxed. "But after the tournament, I really thought I should come back to Japan." His hand clings onto one of the poles, and he meets Tezuka's eyes with his usual confidence. "To cheer for the team."

"The US Open finals…"

"In a few weeks. I have time."

Tezuka nods somewhat affirmatively, but he still feels out of place. He feels like he has to give Ryoma some sort of advice, or say something important, because that's what's always been his job. But Ryoma beat him in their last match, and for some reason, that makes him feel less like his captain and more like… more like what? Right now, all Tezuka can think about is each perfect strand of green-black hair on Ryoma's head. Tezuka has been practicing hard for the Nationals – every moment that isn't spent with studying is spent with tennis. After Ryoma's victory against him, Tezuka felt relieved – yet, at the same time, the urge to improve doubled tenfold. When he sees Ryoma clutching his tennis bag, lazy eyes focused on the ground, the desire grows a bit stronger.

He needs to play Ryoma. He needs to see the experience he gathered from the US Open.

"Echizen," Tezuka starts.

"Buchou," Ryoma says at the same time, voice fierce. He looks up, and the gold eyes are ablaze with passion. "A game."

Apparently Ryoma was thinking the same thing. Tezuka just nods, ignoring the swell in his heart and the sweat on his palms.

The rest of the bus ride is spent in uttermost silence. People around them chatter, and the bus makes weird creaking sounds. Tezuka is only aware of the figure beside him - this boy with the energy to move mountains and the fire to bring down a storm. When the bus halts to a stop, he lets Ryoma go in front of him, and follows behind, and without exchanging a single word, they both head for the clay courts.

 **.**

"One set match?" Ryoma smirks, tennis racket already out. He holds it comfortably in his hands.

Tezuka unzips his bag, and takes out his own racket. His fingers tighten around the handle. "Alright," he says. He wants to say no tiebreaks, but he's suspicious that this game will inevitably lead up to that.

Turning around, Tezuka starts towards his side of the court. The sun bakes overhead. The clay courts are the same ones he played Ryoma with for the very first time. But this time it's different – Ryoma has matured, they know each other's games, and both are pushing and striving to reach for the top.

As he reaches the other side of the service line, he faintly hears Ryoma call:

"You better not have gotten rusty, buchou."

Tezuka ceases to smile, but offers a fond reply, "To you, as well." He bends his knees in preparation. When he looks back, Ryoma's already bouncing on the balls of his feet, face heated with determination. _He wants a challenge - a really good challenge,_ the captain realizes, and he grips his racket harder. He always goes all out, but this time, he's going to push himself to his limit.

"Ready?" Ryoma grins.

"Of course." Tezuka nods curtly.

The boy stretches into the air, and Tezuka admires his beautiful form for a split second, before the ball crashes onto the other side of the court. His eyes narrow, but he's not surprised. The serve has gotten sharper, quicker – it's almost to the point of being invisible. Ryoma glances at him, smirks for the third time, before throwing the ball in the air and serving again. This time, Tezuka returns it, and the game is on. The ball shoots back and forth, harsh and fierce, combined with skill and passion and power. The net between them challenges them to push further and higher, stretching and diving for the ball. Tezuka has never felt so exhilarated – the thrill has never been so continuous – and he lunges forward and swiftly returns ball after ball.

The game is long, and hard, and by the time they reach tiebreak, both are panting heavily. The sun has dipped under, and the entire sky is maroon.

When Ryoma leaps forward to return a drop shot, he mutters audibly, "better than the US Open," and Tezuka feels immensely pleased.

The game ends in Tezuka's favour.

"One point!" Ryoma stumbles toward the net, face flushed and legs trembling underneath him. He reaches out and shakes Tezuka's hand tightly.

Tezuka's eyes smile, hidden coolly behind clear glasses. At the end, the game hadn't been a matter of skill or passion – they both were still equal, because one point had no ability to determine the difference in power.

Exhausted, Tezuka nods, and towels off the beads of sweat dripping down his face. Ryoma watches him with slight awe.

"Hey, buchou, can I come over to your house?" he asks.

The brunette peers down in surprise. The straightforward question is unexpected, but the thought of spending just a little more time with the younger makes his throat tighten.

"Ah. I suppose. For some tea?"

Ryoma just gives him a weird look, before he trots off to pack up his tennis bag.

 **.**

Tezuka takes a sip of his tea, and pointedly ignores Ryoma's adamant gaze. The boy sits across from him on the dining table, looking at the green tea with a mixture of awe and wary.

"Is it good?" he finally asks, hesitantly. He leans over to the cup with a scrutinizing expression.

"My mother made it." The older gives him a firm look, and Ryoma tilts his head towards the kitchen where a woman disposes dishes into a dishwasher. From behind, she has long dark brown hair, and a slender body. Above them, the kitchen fan whirrs loudly, and the backyard doorway peeps open to let in fresh air. The home is nice. Ryoma would much rather live here than his own home. Tezuka's house is warm, and quiet, and peaceful. He thinks about his own home, with his mother who works entirely too much, his father who's much too loud, and Karupin who always gives Nanako a hard time.

The thirteen-year old sips on the green tea. A sweet taste relishes his tongue.

"So…" Tezuka watches him steadily. "How does it taste?"

"Good." Ryoma grins, and his gold eyes twinkle. "But not better than Ponta."

"It's considerably healthier, though."

"Less convenient," Ryoma retorts.

They both stare at each other, and Ryoma licks his lips. He has a sudden urge for more green tea. But not from the cup.

"How's the team?" he asks instead, gaze awkwardly fixed on Tezuka's lips.

"They're doing well, and we have a fair chance at the Nationals." Tezuka drains his cup. "As long as we don't get careless."

Ryoma remarks with a sly smirk, "We can't have that now, can we?"

Tezuka remains stoic. "Absolutely not."

The silence returns, but it's comfortable. Ryoma drinks his tea slowly, slightly startled that Tezuka is already finished. Moments later, Tezuka's mother comes back into the room, and when she glances between them, she has a knowing smile on her face. Ryoma hates knowing smiles like that, but he doesn't be rude, because this is _Tezuka's_ mother, and she makes damn good green tea. She offers another cup to Tezuka, who politely nods, and then offers to Ryoma, who bluntly declines. The moment she's gone, Tezuka looks over at him.

"I thought you liked it."

"It's good," Ryoma insists. He takes another sip to make his point. "I'm just full."

"From green tea?" Tezuka asks skeptically.

"Something like that." Ryoma's eyes once again focus on Tezuka's lips. He doesn't know why, but he has this inexplicable urge to lean over and kiss them – just, _just_ to see if they taste like green tea.

Before Ryoma can muster the absurd courage to do so, Tezuka pushes his cup away and stands up. He has a faraway look in his eyes as he stares out the backyard window. Ryoma sees a wave of emotions cross through – so many that they're impossible to decipher – but then Tezuka adjusts his glasses and returns to normal.

"Buchou?" Ryoma asks worriedly.

The captain glances at him, and fondness shines through his deep brown eyes.

"Your return was a pleasant surprise."

Ryoma just stares at him, and decides that's Tezuka's way of saying he was missed.

 **.**

The neighborhood is dark by the time Ryoma is ready to leave.

Ryoma snuggles into his Seigaku jacket, and stands at the doorsteps with a frown. Tezuka frowns too, leaning against the doorframe.

"Are you sure you want to walk home alone?" Tezuka asks. Crickets chirp in the distance, and the sidewalk is eerily dark. "It's not safe."

Ryoma cracks a grin because the sense of protection he receives from Tezuka is delighting. But he knows Tezuka is being absolutely serious, so he forces a sort of pout and responds that he can most definitely take care of himself. Tezuka just sighs, and nods.

"Alright. Be careful."

"Thanks for the game," Ryoma offers. He adds as an afterthought, "And the green tea."

"Not a problem," Tezuka replies.

Ryoma takes a step back, and then another, nearing away from the porch. Tezuka still stands there - waiting, watching. The twelve-year old steps back some more, even though there's an invisible force practically dragging him back toward his captain. With a quick calculation, Ryoma recalls his return – the bus ride, in which he realized Tezuka was just as beautiful as he was a year ago. The match, which was probably one of Ryoma's favourites in his lifetime. He's sure that there's more of those to come. But the thing that really stands out is the _green tea_ – the answer he still hasn't gotten.

Ryoma doesn't like leaving things unfinished.

"Buchou!" Ryoma trots back up the steps just as Tezuka starts to close the door. The captain appears startled.

"Yes?"

Ryoma's flushed, and breathless for absolutely no reason. "Do you taste like green tea?" he asks impatiently.

"I – I'm not quite sure."

"Gotta find out then!"

"Echizen? I'm not sure what you mean-"

Ryoma simply responds by going on his tippy toes and brushing his lips against his captain. A moment later, Tezuka kisses back, and strong arms wrap around his waist. And the kiss is so intense and so wonderful that Ryoma can't help but think kissing Tezuka was the real reason he returned to Japan.


End file.
